


The Colour of Promises

by Snowfilly1



Category: The Bill (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 18:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: Jack doesn't want to risk Mickey in the undercover operation in Germany. But is Mickey's physical safety worth risking their friendship - and whatever else Jack sometimes thinks it could be?





	The Colour of Promises

**Author's Note:**

> A repost of a decade old fic on FF.net. 
> 
> Written for the crossover episodes 'Proof of Life.'

The atmosphere in the airport was dreadful; he didn’t have to look around to know that Mickey had, for the first time in a while, had come near him. He could feel the antagonism; the stress. Somehow, he’d ended up as leader of this part of the trip, right down to having to organise the passports and cabs to get them here on time, which had been bad enough but Mickey was close by, and that was most of the problem.

Mickey wasn’t talking to him.

‘You ready, Guv?’

He was; despite having to get Terry and the two German officers off earlier, they were still here an hour before they needed to check in. Normally, or ‘in the past’, a free hour in Mickey’s company would have been cause for rejoicing. Now, it felt like a trial; an endurance test.

‘Yes.’

‘Lucky that Mickey didn’t have to go home and pack, wasn’t it?’

He grunted once in reply; glanced over, searching for Mickey. The blonde man was leaning against the wall, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket as he stared straight ahead at the crowds of people. He looks bored, more than anything, doesn’t he? Guess he’s just trying not to look worried. 

‘Looks like he’s auditioning for a James Dean biopic, doesn’t he?’

Suppose he does, really. Sulky and arrogant. Finally, Kezia appeared to realise that he didn’t want to talk, and she settled down to flick through a left behind copy of The Sun. Meadows just sat there, waiting for time to pass, and trying not to look at Mickey. A couple of times when he risked looking over, he could have sworn that Mickey had been looking at him seconds earlier; every time he did look, Mickey was staring at the other people.

‘What did I do wrong, Guv? Why don’t you want me to come?’ He guessed that those plaintive questions would stay as one of the ever increasing number of memories of Mickey that he wished he didn’t have. 

‘C’mon.’ He stood up carefully, feeling the new aches in his back and legs that were the result of age. At the edge of his vision, Mickey was striding towards the plane as if shouldering his way through invisible crowds. The only luggage the DC had was the backpack he usually brought to work.

Not long ago, I would have known he’s keeping his passport and everything at work. I should have known. Is it that he doesn’t feel safe at home any more, or did he know that something like this was going to happen, and he wanted to be ready?

Kezia kept close to him, letting Mickey tag alone on his own. It felt wrong, having someone else as his shadow. 

‘You didn’t want Mickey in on this, did you, Sir?’

Almost involuntarily, he smiled as he looked across at Mickey. There was nothing of the victim about him now; he moved with the casual grace of a hunter, secure in his own strength. He seemed heavier now, carrying more muscle, and fitter than Meadows remembered him appearing for a long while. Even in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, his blue eyes were soft. And I don’t suppose I should know exactly what shade his eyes are, should I? 

‘Who did you want?’ 

He turned back to Kezia, wondering if he knew what colour her eyes were. He didn’t. Who would I want? Burnside, if there was going to be a fight, or Bolton because he always knew what to do; Smithy if I wanted a mate there. Not Mickey. It’s not like he’s a really fantastic copper like Daly or someone, and he’s still got so many problems that you never know how he’s going to react to anything. 

He knew he was lying to himself about that. There was no-one, in the squad he had now, or from the ranks of ghosts who he’d once worked with, who he’d rather have alongside him. And probably no-one else who’d die for you if he thought you needed him to. 

‘Anyone except him.’

It was her turn to look over at Mickey, who was several places behind them in the queue to get on the plane. ‘What did he do wrong?’

‘Absolutely nothing.’

‘And Heaton over-ruled you.’ 

‘Nothing to do with you, Kezia.’ He’d been like that himself once; full of questions, so much a detective that he couldn’t switch off from it even while travelling. And he didn’t mind it, not really, if only because it saved him from having to pay attention to Mickey for a while longer. They’d booked three seats together; Mickey had the window one, next to himself so that he didn’t have to be near any strangers and doesn’t that tell you exactly how much you care about him? Too much.

‘Is he going to be a liability on this?’

He’s not going to get us arrested, like Rod did that time. He smiled in remembrance of his old DC. ‘I worked on a case abroad once before. In France. Trust me, the DC I took with me then was far worse than anything you can imagine. He got us thrown in jail.’

Kezia burst out laughing; Meadows allowed himself to join in. Away from the station, away from anything that he could do to resolve the kidnapping, there was very little tension. It would be different in two hours, when they arrived in Berlin, but until then, he was free. Beyond any demands anyone could place on him.

And Mickey ought to be so happy about this; enjoying it so much. The DC should have been laughing with them, eager and happy. Probably playing his I-pod just loud enough so that Meadows could hear every single track, but not identify them without asking Mickey, which would lead to a good fifteen minutes of teasing about his old fashioned taste in music. Frank words, an attitude that he’d never allowed from any subordinate before – because they were friends.

Except you’ve never been quite frank enough with him, have you? You couldn’t tell him the truth about today, even though he’s been hoping to go ever since Terry said on Monday we’d have to.

Ignoring their laughter, Mickey stepped carefully around Kezia and then pushed past Meadows. He was almost sure that the kick to his ankle was accidental. 

Hoping to see something, anything, he turned to Mickey, but the DC had already settled down and had moved to look out the window. Without the leather jacket, he looked oddly vulnerable. His face was pale.

‘You alright, Mickey?’

There was no answer, only something that could have been an exasperated sigh as the engines began to turn over. 

‘Mickey, I’m sorry.’ He didn’t mind Kezia hearing that apology; wouldn’t mind whoever did, as long as it reached Mickey. I just want my friend back. 

‘No, you ain’t.’ Mickey turned back to the window, and Meadows looked away from him. It wasn’t the close proximity of the DC that bothered him; just the way Mickey always knew what he was thinking. Almost everything.

I am sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you away.

The first ten minutes of the flight seemed to last hours. Kezia had her notes out and was flicking through them; Mickey was shivering, and he was trying not to worry. Worrying too much about Mickey was what had led to this in the first place.

**

‘So, who’s going?’

The superintendent’s office was full of people. People jostling him, barking questions and orders, some in a language he couldn’t understand beyond ‘Danke’ and he knew Mickey was outside. The tension in the room was that caused by the knowledge that guns and money were involved; that people were willing to, and probably would, kill over this case. 

‘Terry, obviously. But separately, in case they have linked him to us. Me and Kezia. She can do the translation work.’

‘What about Mickey Webb? As I understand it, his involvement on this case has been second only to yours, Jack.’

‘I don’t think DC Webb’s up to this.’ He’d probably enjoy this more than anything since that Oasis gig he dragged me to, and run rings round everyone else as well. 

‘Why not?’

He couldn’t come up with any lies fast enough. Mickey had only disobeyed orders once, and the price he’d paid for that had been so high that he’d followed them to the letter ever since. Meadows could lie about himself; would lie about most of the others, but not his friend. When had he started admitting to himself that Mickey was a friend? He’d certainly never told the DC that; for all the times they’d gone for a drink or a meal together; for the times when Mickey had turned up on his doorstep because he couldn’t sleep. All of that had faded away over the past couple of years, since Mickey had seemed to be getting better.

‘I think it’s too dangerous.’

He locked eyes with Heaton. Stared at him as though he was fighting a battle. Well, I am, aren’t I? And Mickey sodding Webb is the prize, except that if I win, I don’t want to take him away.

‘I think your judgement’s impaired on this one, Jack. If it’s too dangerous for Mickey, then it is for everyone else and you’re not going.’

‘We need to.’ He knew where this was going; could sense the order. 

‘In that case, Mickey Webb goes.’

‘No.’ 

He could feel himself blushing; stayed looking at Heaton as best as he could. Several of the others were looking at him, and he thought that two of them were sniggering. Fine. He’d be happy to risk anyone else, if Mickey could stay here.

‘Jack...I know you’ve always tried to look after him, but...this is his job. Is there any reason why, beyond what you want, that he can’t do his job?’

‘I already told him that he’s not coming.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘Badly.’ Dreadfully, I guess. ‘What have I done wrong, Jack? Why won’t you let me come?’ had been Mickey’s response. He hadn’t shouted or got angry; just stood there with his head down and all the spirit fading from his eyes, so that he’d felt like he was killing an essential part of the younger man, but hadn’t stopped. Not until he’d pushed Mickey so far that he had got angry, and yelled at him. Told him that either he was involved in the case as of right or that he left – because he’d been a sergeant, because he’d been in the NCIS and deserved more than being ignored because Jack wanted the time to shag Kezia or whoever else he ended up taking with him. He’d never upset Mickey like that before.

‘He’s going. I think your friendship got in the way, Jack. You need to start thinking of him as a copper, not your drinking partner. Do you want to go and tell him?’

‘We need to leave in two hours, guv. He’s not packed.’

‘He’s going with you, Jack. Now go and tell him.’

He left the office as slowly as he could, aware that the others were watching him leave. Mickey was leaning against the opposite wall, much as he would later in the airport, not quite looking at him.

‘Heaton says you can come.’

‘And?’ He wondered, even then, if maybe that was the last word Mickey would ever speak to him. That curious, halting, tone as if he wanted to shout but didn’t dare; as if he almost hoped that Jack would speak kindly to him. Maybe more than kindly.

‘You are. I still don’t want you coming.’

He’d forgotten, over the years, how many different shades of blue were in Mickey’s eyes. Like a kaleidoscope, made only from sky and navy and azure blues, so that he could stare into them for hours and never see all the shades, but only Mickey’s pain. He really did think that he’d done something to displease Meadows.

He scuttled around, packing, and Meadows tried not to watch. Mickey felt his gaze, and deliberately got up and shut the door, so that he couldn’t watch. He imagined, instead.

Imagined that his desire to protect his friend – which hadn’t worked – had cost him his friend as well. 

*

Abruptly, Mickey got to his feet and pushed past them, hurrying down the aisle. Kezia turned to watch him; Meadows made an effort not to look. He knew Mickey well enough to know that he was upset about something – and that he wouldn’t appreciate any interference from him.

‘Is he alright?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is he ill? Is that why you didn’t want him to come?’

Meadows shook his head, wishing that he could get and pace the aisle without the risk of meeting Mickey on the way back. His back ached. ‘I don’t want him to get hurt. Not you or Terry...but not him.’

‘He matters to you, doesn’t he?’

Too much. Far too much. Heaton was right, wasn’t he? Personal judgement... ‘As a colleague, that’s all. I don’t think it’s a place for him.’

‘No.’ 

He remembered, vividly, that she’d dated Smithy for a while. It was like talking to a female version of him, full of questions, wanting assurances. 

‘Mickey...the first time I saw you and him in the pub, I thought he was your son. He does matter to you.’

He nodded. Son...I suppose grandson would have been worse, but...friends is all we’ve been. Just friends, even if... ‘I want to keep him safe.’

‘You can’t. Let him do his job. If he gets hurt sometime, maybe he’ll get a bit smarter and duck the next time someone wants to hit him.’

Maybe that was part of what had changed their relationship. Delaney and everything that had happened hung over every conversation they’d ever had, shading even the most casual meetings. Maybe he thinks I was trying to protect him because of all that, but I wasn’t...It was all for me. If he gets hurt on this, I couldn’t cope. I need him...and Kezia didn’t even know how close he’d come to losing his friend once before.

‘And go and see him now, Guv.’

‘Why?’

‘I was talking to him earlier. When you were sorting all the paperwork and tickets out. Think it’s the longest conversation I’ve ever had with him.’

‘What about?’ Was that jealousy, that feeling? The anger that Mickey – his Mickey – had gone and spoken to someone else, just after shouting at him.

‘Why he wanted to come.’

‘Why?’ Just because he wants the glory, and probably wants to wave the result around at everyone who might want to give him a job in the future. This is what he does.

‘You. He wanted to come to make sure you don’t get killed. He knows how dangerous it’s going to be.’ Kezia tugged on a strand of hair, as if thinking. ‘And he’s scared of flying.’ 

‘Scared?’

‘Yeah.’

‘He never said.’ Because today was the first time flying ever got mentioned, and he didn’t get a chance to talk about it. He said ‘when do we go then, guv?’ and I told him ‘you’re not coming; I don’t need you,’ and that was the end of civilised conversation.

‘No? Well, he is.’

He hurried as best as he could, hating the fact that he couldn’t run. Ignored the curious looks of the others, and called softly ‘Mickey, you okay?’

Eventually, Mickey did let himself out of the toilet. His breath smelt of vomit, but Meadows would have bet that he was the only person on the plane – Kezia included – who would have noticed the depth of his fear. Why the hell didn’t I notice that earlier? I should have known.

If it had been within his power, he would have had the plane land now. If he’d known, he might have tried to organise a car or something; anything else. I only ever wanted to keep him safe.

‘What do you want?’

He tried not to feel so pleased that Mickey was talking to him again; reminded himself that the younger man was so cross with him that he still looked as though he might lash out. 

‘Are you okay?’

Mickey shrugged, marched back to his seat. He looked so pale. 

‘You wouldn’t have known if I’d stayed at ‘ome like ya wanted me to.’

He couldn’t say ‘leave me alone’ any clearer if he tried, could he? It cost him everything he had to sit next to Mickey for the rest of the flight, and not try and help him. It felt like trying to hold his breath past the stage when every fibre of his being needed oxygen; denying something vital to his being.

**

Nightmare. Horror. He couldn’t come up with any other way of describing Germany. It could have been the time of his life; time away from everyone at Sun Hill, a case complex enough that – if he’d wanted to – he could have used it as evidence to head back to the NCIS or MIT. And time with Mickey in the same hotel room – trying to save money, they’d only booked two. Heaton had accepted that as an excuse without even looking dubious, but it had been Kezia who altered it; who had to, because Mickey still wasn’t talking to him beyond what was demanded by the case.

He found it hard to concentrate on anything else, even when Terry was charging his way through the railway station and everyone else was following. Mickey run alongside him like a ghost drawn from deep down in happier memories, and at the end of everything, he stood there and let the German officers make the arrests while he watched Mickey. 

The blonde man was chewing on his lower lip; maybe trying to hide a smile, maybe already worrying about the flight back. There had to be some way he could alter that, at least.

Kezia walked back to the hotel with him afterwards, more relaxed and happy than he could ever remember her being; Mickey had muttered something about finding a pub and Terry, apparently lonely after over a week of undercover work, had gone with him.

‘You can’t keep worrying over him, Guv.’

Yes, I can. ‘I don’t.’

‘He doesn’t understand why you didn’t want him to come. That’s why he’s angry with you. Because he thinks you’re angry at him.’

‘You don’t?’

Kezia laughed. ‘He could kill someone and you wouldn’t mind. You just didn’t want to risk him. Tell him that. That he’s your friend.’

He would. It had to be worth it. Tell him that, and maybe start drafting a resignation, because his personal feelings shouldn’t interfere with Mickey’s career. He had no right to hold him back light that.

But tomorrow. That would do. 

He lay awake in the strange room – he’d spent most nights working late – and listened for Mickey coming back. He’d done the same for Ben, occasionally, but without that weird hope that his son would come and speak to him. Do I actually want to discuss this with him; tell him why I worry about him so much? Yes, tomorrow would do. 

Finally, he found Mickey outside the hotel, standing in the car park. He looked lost.

‘Haven’t you got anywhere better to go?’

‘Not unless I get to the airport a day earlier.’

I hate seeing him like that. He wanted his old friend back so badly that it hurt. ‘I’m going to get a cab, see the sights a bit. Kezia’s finishing up. You want to come?’  
Mickey didn’t answer, but when Meadows walked off, he followed. 

‘You speak any German, Guv?’

He doesn’t have to call me that. I wish he wouldn’t. ‘How much do you speak?’

‘Come off o’ it. I hardly speak English.’ He smiled, and for a while, they walked in silence. Got a cab and rode downtown in silence, and wandered around, trying to ignore the weather.

The sky was sheet metal grey, sapping the colour from everything that it touched, and the wind had a mournful sound. He wasn’t sure how long it would be before the rain started. At least Mickey had enough sense not to be wearing any of his football shirts – he’d brought a couple of t-shirts a few days ago, but he was still clinging to his leather jacket. The deep brown leather and his bright eyes gave Mickey more colour than anything else in the street.

‘Stop it, Guv.’

It sounded like a command, but he wasn’t even sure what he’d been doing. ‘What?’

‘Staring at me like you’re waiting for me to do something that you can bawl me out for. What ya gonna do this time? Send me ‘ome?’

He didn’t want this conversation here, in the middle of a foreign street where conversations he couldn’t understand swirled around the pair of them. There was a street sign he thought he vaguely recognised; he followed it, and Mickey followed him until they reached a small park. The grass had been turned to a slurry of mud, and the few gaunt trees around the edge of the park were shivering in the wind. There were no leaves left to fall.

Let’s face it, even kidnappers aren’t going to be crazy enough to come here today. 

Mickey was still shadowing him; turning to face him, moving into his space in a way that could have been threatening coming from another person. ‘So? What’ve I done wrong this time?’

Nothing. Ever. ‘I didn’t think you’d done anything wrong, Mick.’

‘What ‘bout Sun Hill? Why then?’ He was fiddling absently with his crucifix.

‘I didn’t want you to get hurt.’

‘An’ you didn’t care about the others? It’s okay for Terry to get shot at, but not me? Tell me...is this just cos you think I’m too weak to do anything? Cos of what happened, you think I’m not a good copper anymore?’

‘No. I just didn’t want you here...I thought it was going to be dangerous.’

‘And Sun Hill ain’t?’

‘That’s your job. I can’t keep you safe from that, but I can from this.’

‘Jack, for God’s sake! I don’t need to be kept safe.’

He started walking away, mud fountaining up over his blue jeans. Meadows followed him, not even registering that it was raining now.

‘Listen to me.’

‘Guv, I wanted to do this. To come. That’s my choice.’

‘What, when you’re scared of flying? You should have been happy that I wanted you to stay behind, stay safe.’

Mickey whirled round, losing his footing in the mud. Meadows was holding him before he could fall, and the DC laughed. It had been so long since he’d heard that laugh.

‘If you got hurt, Jack...I wanted to be here. To help. The plane didn’t really matter.’

It mattered so little that it made you sick, and I know you’re worrying about going back now, already. I wish I could believe that...that you wanted to be with me.

Mickey pulled his arm free, moved back a step.

‘So, why’d I matter more? Must be some reason.’

He couldn’t lie anymore. The resignation could go in when he got back. There would be no need to see Mickey again – if there was something that he’d got from the past week, it was the knowledge that he could live without Mickey’s friendship. 

‘Of course there is.’

‘An’ it ain’t that you think I’m a poxy copper?’

‘No.’ He took a long look at Mickey. ‘I wanted you to stay safe. Because you were prepared to do something that terrified you just to make sure I didn’t get myself killed out here. And because I know what colour your eyes are.’

Mickey smiled across at him; something familiar so far from home. His eyes were the colour of safety, of promises. 

Of friendship, and for now...forever...he’d have to be content with that.

‘It’s my life, Jack. I ain’t gonna have ya run it for me.’

‘I know.’

‘Maybe keep me company.’

He’d never known exactly what colours Mickey’s eyes were, this close up.


End file.
